


the interior of a collapsing star

by llien



Series: before the stars break [2]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain, Emetophobia, Gen, High School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-07 22:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20824889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llien/pseuds/llien
Summary: Vanitas was shooting down the track like a star falling across the sky — all around him snow piled in tufts, fell like kindness in drifts that melted in Ven’s hair and on his knees, leaving the tiniest kisses. Vanitas’ black hair was a study in contrast against the white backdrop, with the sad shades of blue tucked into shadows.Ven could admit he admired his brother’s athleticism. It was proof, really, that Vanitas wasn’t lazy. Ven had never believed that, no matter how often their teachers and father repeated it, but it was different between having blind faith and solid evidence. Vanitas was stubborn and ambitious andvicious,but Ven would swear on his mother’s grave that he wasn’tlazy.But Ven didn’t know what word to use instead, when assignments went incomplete, naps stretched into six hours, and ‘housebound’ sounded less and less like a joke as the years went by.





	the interior of a collapsing star

**Author's Note:**

> I've always intended to dive into their life a little before the main plot, so here's a snapshot of their days during high school, and why Ven might choose to go so far for college, dragging Vanitas with him.
> 
> “Stains in memory no amount of water  
could scrub clean.”  
—Duncan Campbell

Ven sat with his knees to his chest on the frigid bleachers. Even sitting on Vanitas’ fur-lined coat didn’t keep the cold bite of metal from leeching through, and he wrapped his over-layered arms around his knees with a crinkle of parka, exhaling hot clouds of breath on this gloved hands. 

Vanitas was shooting down the track like a star falling across the sky — all around him snow piled in tufts, fell like kindness in drifts that melted in Ven’s hair and on his knees, leaving the tiniest kisses. Vanitas’ black hair was a study in contrast against the white backdrop, with the sad shades of blue tucked into shadows. The field was empty, every other sane person in doors. 

Ven had looked it up, actually. Told Vanitas, even. How exercising in extreme weather did more harm than good, about your body temperature combating the elements even as your heart rate increased. Vanitas didn’t listen. He never did anymore.

He couldn’t really describe the way he felt, sitting there alone and in the cold, snow his constant companion. Vanitas made another circuit, slowing down briefly to catch his breath, and Ven tipped his head to the skies. Snow wasn’t entirely like rain. He could stare at the gray clouds without risking water in his eyes, forcing him to blink. Occasionally a snowflake did drift down, catching on his lashes. It was an odd sensation, looking up at nothing and nothing and snow, all that gray stretching as far as he could see, until great, tall spindly black trees cut off the horizon, branches bending under heavy layers of ice.

It was absolutely frigid. His hands were numb and nearly burning, and he’d lost feeling in his thighs nearly thirty minutes ago. His nose and cheeks were especially numb, which was funny feeling when he tried to smile, and he knew they were rosy red. 

Vanitas had sneered once. Told him if Ven would run too he wouldn’t feel any of it. He was full of shit. Ven knew damn well Vanitas felt the cold because the tissue box in his car was used by the both of them and his backseat was littered with crumpled balls, covered in snot from sniffling noses.

His clunky wristwatch beeped at him, and he stood with achy frozen limbs and a cough, grabbing Vanitas’ coat to rest on his shoulders and making his way slowly down the bleachers, navigating until he found a rail because black ice was _ not _funny no matter how often Vanitas laughed his ass off when people fell. 

Careful measured steps eventually led him to the springy tartan track, and he stopped at the finishing line, watching Vanitas all the way across the field on the other side. His red joggers were made of a soft, warm material, but his jacket was slick and shiny, not reflecting light given the immense cloud coverage but covered in snow on his shoulders and hood. He had excellent running posture, even and steady.

Ven could admit he admired his brother’s athleticism. It was proof, really, that Vanitas wasn’t lazy. Ven had never believed that, no matter how often their teachers and father repeated it, but it was different between having blind faith and solid evidence. Vanitas was stubborn and ambitious and _ vicious _ but Ven would swear on his mother’s grave that he wasn’t _ lazy. _

_ Lazy _didn’t involve mile-runs at seven in the morning.

_ Lazy _wasn’t dragging your brother to be your stopwatch even when it was five degrees below zero and counting.

_ Lazy _wasn’t the biggest grin on your face when you broke a new record after weeks of training.

_ Lazy _wasn’t Vanitas.

But Ven didn’t know what word to use instead, when assignments went incomplete, naps stretched into six hours, and ‘housebound’ sounded less and less like a joke as the years went by.

Vanitas was approaching now, face red and breathing labored, still keeping steady pace, and Ven stuffed a hand into the thick lining of his jacket pocket and fumbled with the clumsy grip his gloves gave him to pull the stopwatch out. He gave up and grabbed the entire thing rather than the string, and winced as he felt _ something _give in. 

A look confirmed his fear. He’d stopped the timer. All he could do was laugh nervously and wait as Vanitas got closer.

Instead of crossing the finishing line and slowing to a jog to work it off though, Vanitas stepped a single foot over it and immediately stumbled to the edge where nothing but snow was, collapsing on his knees to vomit.

Ven had never moved so fast in his life. In an instant he was beside Vanitas, yanking his gloves off and reaching to pull Vanitas’ fallen hood back with trembling bright red fingers that wouldn’t bend correctly, grabbing his hair to keep it from his face as his back arched and he convulsed, stomach leaping up towards his spine in a way that made Ven gag. 

All that came out was liquid and clear, and Ven’s fury snapped into existence like the quick-sharp hiss of a match against red phosphorous, igniting into white blinding irritation. 

“You didn’t _ eat!” _Ven hissed, reaching under Vanitas to pull the zipper of his coat down, other hand going around to grasp the edge of his collar and hold it taut. Vanitas was still gagging, disgusting wretches that made his entire body seize up. “You ran all of that with nothing in your stomach!”

He succeeded in pulling the zipper down to nearly his stomach, where Vanitas’ bent position made the rest impossible, but all Ven cared for was to reach his face and neck, letting his frigid touch try to calm the overheated skin there. It felt almost like Vanitas was his own personal sauna, radiating heat even in the dead of winter.

_ “Don’t—” _ Vanitas coughed, clawed bare hands braced in the snow, sounding tiny, so small, “don’t yell at me.” 

It was a sad plea.

Immediately, Ven’s anger was snuffed out, and he only felt sorry. Vanitas was bent double and throwing up and Ven had yelled at him. What was wrong with him?

He didn’t understand why he’d gotten so angry, only that he was. He slipped one hand from Vanitas’ neck to his forehead, under his bangs, and Vanitas sighed, finally sitting back on his legs and gasping now that the worst was over. 

“Face me,” Ven murmured, and Vanitas nodded weakly. Ven hated him like this, when all the fight bled out. This wasn’t Vanitas. This was the aftermath. This was every Friday after a pop quiz and Vanitas bombed it and the school thought calling home was a good idea. Quiet. Meek. Still, Vanitas shifted enough so that the mess wasn’t in his immediate line of sight, and Ven scooted until Vanitas could rest his weight on him, forehead against his shoulder. With one hand running soothingly up and down Vanitas’ back, Ven shoveled snow over the filth with his other, scooping it up even though the ice burned, dumping it in mounds until it was hidden.

Then, he lifted Vanitas away from him, so that he was sitting straight again. He grabbed a bit of snow into both his palms and kept them close together until it melted some, then passed it over to Vanitas, who took it in shaking hands to rub his mouth with it. 

Ven waited until the big tremors passed and his breath evened out before pushing his aching limbs to a stand and holding his hand out. Vanitas ignored it in favor of standing on his own, but he was still quiet as Ven retrieved his discarded gloves and pulled them on Vanitas’ hands instead, pulling the zipper on his jacket back up now that he’d cooled down, and then the hood over his head. 

Grabbing his hand, Ven pulled him towards the crumpled jacket and stopwatch he’d dropped earlier, grabbing both and placing the jacket around Vanitas’ shoulders. Next stop, their bags at the field entrance, icy metal gate protesting being swung open. Ven led them from the field in silence, Vanitas sniffling behind him. 

The parking lot was barely filing up with students for school, but Ven paid them no mind as he unlocked his car and placed Vanitas in the passenger seat. He took his own in the driver’s, slamming the door too hard. Vanitas flinched.

All Ven did was turn the car on. It rumbled to life, and he blasted the heater, and they sat in mutual silence.

Water, granola bars, a stray chocolate bar that was ice-hard but that he placed on top the vent so it’d warm up some. He watched with a keen eye, making sure Vanitas ate and drank and then kept it down, and finally when the car was toasty and Vanitas had relaxed, Ven asked:

“Why?”

It was the same answer as always.

“I don’t know.”

_ Why didn’t you do your homework? I don’t know. _

_ Why didn’t you go to school? I don’t know. _

_ Why did you freak out? I don’t know. _

_ Why does it hurt? I don’t know. _

Vanitas pulled Ven’s gloves off and deposited them in his lap, then his jacket, and Ven followed suit since it was too warm now to stand the layers. Everything was mechanical, an awkward attempt at normalcy. Ven wondered if someone would find the vomit, later. If the sun came out and the snow melted just enough, if the stain would be visible. A tarnish on all that pretty, pristine snow. 

He wondered why he’d bothered to clean it up. It was still snowing, it would’ve eventually piled up on its own. 

How could he be angry at Vanitas, when even Ven didn’t know?

“Does it hurt?” Ven asked instead, words almost unheard under the heavy exhaust of heat from the vents. The candy bar was wilting. He didn’t have the strength to look at Vanitas, gaze firmly on one of the dials of his radio. There was dust there, and he began to wonder when he’d last deep cleaned his car. It was just in the cracks, on some places he didn’t touch as frequently. Crumbs in the granola’s wrapping fell into his cupholder where Vanitas had subsequently stuffed it. He picked his gloves up, and wondered if even vomit lingered in the fibers. 

“It always does,” Vanitas sighed, and Ven felt a little like crying. The quiet silence of the world seemed impossible now. What was wrong with Vanitas? Why did it seem like Ven was the only one who noticed? 

How could Ven have yelled at him at all, when Vanitas was so clearly in pain?

“Don’t cry,” Vanitas murmured, words gruff, and Ven looked up at him and mutely shook his head, feeling his own features crumple.

He brought the gloves to his chest and tried to breathe around the rock sitting in his throat, telling himself that he’d allowed just a minute. Just that bit to let it out. Then, they’d go into school, and they’d pretend nothing had happened at all.

Beside him, Vanitas was dry-eyed, but he shook silently, head bowed.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter | _oathbreaker
> 
> Not a satisfying ending, but that's what the main story is for.
> 
> _Was it a dream?, Op. 37, No. 4_ (specifically yo-yo ma) is the theme.


End file.
